


No I in Threesome

by LikeSatellites



Category: VIXX
Genre: Canon Compliant, Double Penetration, Hakyeon is LR's biggest fan, LR comeback, M/M, Polyamory, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeSatellites/pseuds/LikeSatellites
Summary: “C’mon then. Let’s prove that all those nights away from home in the studio were worth something.”“To him, you mean,” Taekwoon hisses under his breath as they emerge out on the stage.“To ourselves, mostly. He doesn’t need anything proven to him,” Wonshik answers, kicking at Taekwoon’s ankle subtly as they raise their arms in greeting, staring out at the blur of faces in the crowd.Taekwoon looks out at the flashing cameras and faces masked behind raised fabric banners and signs and sees him in all of them. Sees him everywhere at all once.LR comes back with Whisper, and their biggest fan waits for them at home.





	No I in Threesome

**Author's Note:**

> A/N; whoops my hand slipped and here's 5K of me being like "wow i'm so soft for wontaekyeon" and then suddenly WHAT IF TAEKWOON GOT DP-ED so  
> here we go--once again, plz find me on twitter @likesatellitez

Wonshik puts his hand on Taekwoon’s shoulder--heavy, familiar, and warm--and Taekwoon feels silly for a moment; he’s older; he should be the one giving Wonshik comfort now. But Wonshik always knows when to bring Taekwoon back to the present with the tactile presence of skin against skin. Or, in this particular case, skin against the thick but worn leather of the jacket they’d put Taekwoon in for the showcase. 

Taekwoon looks up from where he’d been focussed on his feet instead of on the roar of the press and fans in a swelling mass beyond the stage. Wonshik’s hair distracts Taekwoon somewhat. He presses his lips together to keep from laughing, but Wonshik sees through the gesture, aiming a punch to Taekwoon’s shoulder. 

“At least they aren’t dreads?” 

“You look like the yarn doll my sister had growing up. It pooped like a real baby,” Taekwoon replies, reaching up to touch one the strange twists in Wonshik’s dark hair. “This is gonna be a bitch to get out.”

“You’re telling me,” Wonshik groans, visibly fighting the urge to rub tiredly at his face, to keep from fucking up his bb cream and eyeliner. 

Taekwoon can see the purplish bruises under Wonshik’s eyes, knows he hasn’t slept more than four sequential hours in weeks at this point. 

“I wish he were here,” Taekwoon says, moving his hand from Wonshik’s hair down to his cheek, cupping it gently. 

“He’ll be watching,” Wonshik murmurs.

“Don’t you dare tell him I said that,” Taekwoon adds murderously. 

Wonshik offers a smile and shoves Taekwoon towards the stage door, his absurd jacquard-esque royal-colored shirt billowing around his narrow waist. “C’mon then. Let’s prove that all those nights away from home in the studio were worth something.”

“To him, you mean,” Taekwoon hisses under his breath as they emerge out on the stage. 

“To ourselves, mostly. He doesn’t need anything proven to him,” Wonshik answers, kicking at Taekwoon’s ankle subtly as they raise their arms in greeting, staring out at the blur of faces in the crowd. 

Taekwoon looks out at the flashing cameras and faces masked behind raised fabric banners and signs and sees him in all of them. Sees him everywhere at all once. 

 

There’s an outfit change. A new hideous sweater. A new pair of godforsakenly tight skinny jeans. Taekwoon feels the time dripping by like heavy granules of sand over his skin, and the exhaustion builds up in his gut like a jungle of swollen vines. 

The showcase ends after a good amount of time spent playing off Wonshik’s confident facade as  _ idol-cum-producer _ , the two of them allowing themselves to speak earnestly about their passion for a while in a way they feel too shy to do sometimes when it is just the two of them. Skin on skin? Fine. Casual. Intimate discussion of their passions? Whoa, slow down, cowboy. 

The fans ask about the incredibly intimate eye contact and wrist-grabbing in the music video, and Wonshik makes up a story about staring at Taekwoon’s nose bridge, which Taekwoon giggles at under his breath. The two of them could be naked in a bubbling hot tub with rose petals strewn atop the surface, wine goblets placed elegantly in the cupholders, their bare limbs intertwined, cocks pressed shaft-to-shaft in Wonshik’s tan hand, and fans would still seek an explanation beyond  _ they’re gay, they’re fucking, they’re in love _ . 

It’s fine. They’re used to it. It comes with the idol life. Fanservice = fine. Actually in love = taboo. 

In the way that Leo is a stage name, a separate persona, Taekwoon knows that his relationship with Wonshik is equally as important to keep separate. 

It takes longer than normal to get Wonshik’s hair un-whatever-it-is-they-did-to-it, and Taekwoon nods off in the chair at the back of the room, after watching the stylists picking at Wonshik’s dark strands with little combs and spraying him down with detangling spray. 

Wonshik wakes Taekwoon with a soft shake to his thigh. “Hey, it’s time to go home.”

“Wha--what time is it?” Taekwoon groans sleepily, pawing at his eyes with the sleeves of the sweatshirt he’d changed into after the showcase ended. The inside is new, still warm with fleece, and Taekwoon is so tired, so warm and tired. 

“It’s just after midnight,” Wonshik replies, his own deep voice thick and gruff with exhaustion. 

“Did you--”

“My phone died,” Wonshik admits. 

Taekwoon’s stomach swoops low, gravity feeling extra heavy as he rises to his feet and sways a little. Wonshik catches him with firm hands on his hips. 

“The van is outside,” Wonshik adds, taking Taekwoon by the hand and pulling gently. 

Taekwoon again feels incompetent. He’s the hyung, shouldn’t he be the one guiding Wonshik to the van? Giving him comfort, support? Taekwoon feels the aching need to be in his bed, surrounded by warm skin and blankets, head tucked against a soft cotton t-shirt, soft puffs of breath against the crown of his head, a gentle voice saying  _ you did well, you did so well _ . 

In the back of the van, Taekwoon drops his head against the hard headrest and releases a heavy sigh that turns into a yawn halfway through. Wonshik, beside him, chuckles and rubs at a smudge of eyeliner under Taekwoon’s eye, high on his cheekbone. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“More than you did, probably,” Taekwoon says, dropping his head onto Wonshik’s shoulder instead of the headrest. There, that’s better. 

“I thought this was eyeliner, but it’s actually just your ugly raccoon eye bags,” Wonshik admits, sliding a hand onto Taekwoon’s knee, and his hand is cold, the way it always is.  _ Cold hand, warm heart _ , a familiar soft voice sounds in Taekwoon’s skull, and Taekwoon finds himself smiling like a dope. He places his hand over Wonshik’s on his knee and lets his eyelids flutter shut. 

He wakes up when he feels a crescendo of pressure on his thigh, thinking Wonshik is purposefully waking him to alert him they’ve returned to the dorm, but Wonshik isn’t looking at him, and taillights are still bright in Taekwoon’s eyes out the windows. 

Taekwoon huffs a laugh and spreads his thighs apart in his seat. He sees Wonshik looking out of the corner of his eye, amusement in his dark hooded eyes. 

“Brazen,” Taekwoon mutters as Wonshik slides his hand further up Taekwoon’s thigh, over the well-worn denim of his jeans. 

“Oh this? This is just a metaphor. For the music. The music arouses me. Your thigh is the music,” Wonshik murmurs, leaning in to trace the shell of Taekwoon’s ear with his tongue, his teeth. 

“And your lips are what? Your soul, seeking the music?”

“See, I knew there was a reason you were picked for this subunit,” Wonshik replies, and Taekwoon shivers at the low cadence of his voice, at the way his hot breath feels against the wetness at the lobe of his ear. Wonshik’s tongue traces his piercing, and Taekwoon spreads his thighs further. “What a needy metaphor you are.”

“The music can’t,  _ ah _ , just sit around and wai--” he cuts off, shivering again as Wonshik’s lips touch that sensitive spot where his jaw meets his ear. “Wait for these pompous souls to seek it out. Music has needs too.”

“Mm,” Wonshik hums,  _ purrs _ in that way fans will be sure to scream over when they play in the background of their tracks, and Taekwoon feels that smug pride of possession, knowing Wonshik is his. 

Wonshik is  _ theirs _ . 

Their manager careens onto the highway exit, and Wonshik’s hand goes with the motion of the vehicle, slipping higher until he’s cupped over Taekwoon’s crotch. 

Taekwoon arches under the seatbelt, seeking more pressure. Wonshik lifts his hand until no matter how high Taekwoon tips his hips, Wonshik’s hand is always  _ just barely there _ , just a slight pressure over the denim.

“I’m gonna tell on you,” Taekwoon whines, barely audible under the hum of the van engine. 

Wonshik only grins, and it is then that Taekwoon realizes he’s been had.

“He told you to do this, didn’t he?” 

Wonshik doesn’t answer, just glances out the window and presses the heel of his hand down against the budding hardness between Taekwoon’s thighs. 

Taekwoon bites his lip hard and holds his breath to keep his whimpers buried in his chest. He aches with the effort. 

“I’m never touching you again,” Taekwoon bites out through gritted teeth. 

“Mhm,” Wonshik tosses over his shoulder as he continues looking out the window. His hand presses up, his palm at the ridge under the head of Taekwoon’s cock, and Taekwoon keens, but turns it into a loud cough. 

“I’m going to tear your skin from your flesh like a freshly killed chicken,” Taekwoon spits, throat aching from forcing a huge fake cough after singing and talking all night. “Ready for the rotisserie.” 

“You could easily push my hand away,” Wonshik reminds him, and Taekwoon crosses his arms over his chest, bitter. 

“That would be even  _ less _ fun,” he murmurs petulantly. 

Wonshik just hums again, and Taekwoon hates him. Hates how his chest blooms with gorgeous heat at the sound of it, the rumbling depth of Wonshik’s voice. He can’t wait to hear it against the back of his throat as he’s pressed into the sweet but musky-scented sheets of Wonshik’s bed. 

He can feel sweat beading at the back of his neck already as his hips swivel under Wonshik’s light touch. 

“What if he’s asleep,” Taekwoon whispers, weakly arching even as the van pulls into the Jelpi parking lot and the engine shuts off. He hazzards one last rut up against Wonshik’s warm palm and then stills.

“For his sake, I hope he is asleep,” Wonshik replies, unclicking both his and Taekwoon’s seatbelts and ushering Taekwoon, still somewhat squirmy, out the van door. 

“But,” Taekwoon whines, and Wonshik pushes at his back, herding him into the building. 

“Honestly, we need sleep too,” Wonshik adds.

In the elevator of the building, Taekwoon presses Wonshik up against the wall and crowds into his space. “Please,” he begs, grinding weakly against Wonshik’s thigh as his lips touch the chapped plushness of Wonshik’s. 

“Aren’t you sleepy, baby?” 

Taekwoon drapes himself heavily against Wonshik where they’re pressed against the metal interior of the elevator. “I can’t sleep until I have you.”

Wonshik brings his hands to Taekwoon’s hips and steers him through the doors as they part onto their dorm floor. “Soon, baby, soon.”

Taekwoon gets the door open as quickly as his hands will move, shucking off his shoes as soon as he’s over the doorjamb and placing them neatly on the shoe rack. Behind him, Wonshik turns on just the light over the couch in the living room, and Taekwoon hears him suck in a gasp. 

“What is--” he breaks off, eyes adjusting to the dim light. 

There’s a body curled up on the couch, clad in pale heathered gray sweatpants and nothing else. Tan skin, smooth arms wrapped around his soft stomach where he’s tucked against the back of the couch. Dark hair fanned out on the decorative throw pillow. 

“He waited for us.”

“Well, he tried.”

Wonshik is moving forward already, kneeling at the side of the couch and brushing Hakyeon’s hair back from his forehead. Hakyeon stirs, rolling over to face him, blinking slowly, licking at his dry lips, still stained from his earlier schedules. He smiles. 

“You’re home,” he says, voice thick and almost nasal with sleep. 

“I told you to sleep if we were too late,” Wonshik mutters, as Hakyeon reaches out a soft tan hand to touch to Wonshik’s jawline. 

“What does it look like I was doing?”

Taekwoon looks up above the television, and there’s a long satin banner taped crookedly on the white wall. CONGRATULATIONS LR!! With poorly scribbled marker hearts that had leaked in the silky ribbon of the banner material. The room is lined with the banners, all proclaiming equally embarrassing sentiments. 

Taekwoon suddenly feels overwhelmed, and he crawls onto the couch on top of Hakyeon and collapses, burying his nose into the sweet familiar scent of Hakyeon’s throat. 

“You’re a big dumb,” he says, straddling Hakyeon’s narrow dancer hips and burrowing into his warmth. 

“How was it? I watched the video. You were amazing, baby. You did so well,” Hakyeon coos, sitting up a little against the armrest of the couch and pulling Taekwoon’s hips down to meet his. Taekwoon shudders, and Hakyeon chuckles gruffly, feeling the hardness of Taekwoon’s cock against his sweatpants. “Looks like Wonshik got my text before his phone died.”

“I’m angry,” Taekwoon mutters, grinding down against Hakyeon’s thick sweatpant-clad thigh. “I demand immediate assistance. From both of you.”

“You should sleep,” Hakyeon says, using his concerned leader voice. 

Taekwoon growls, sitting up and riding himself down into Hakyeon’s lap. “I refuse. I will not sleep until I’ve had two cocks buried deep in my goddamn asshole.”

“He only dirty talks like this when he’s exhausted,” Wonshik says, and Hakyeon nods in agreement. 

“We should sleep before two, at least,” Hakyeon murmurs, unfastening Taekwoon’s belt and undoing the zip of his jeans. 

“That’s no time, though,” Taekwoon huffs, rolling his hips down to meet Hakyeon’s strong thigh over and over until the heat is simmering nicely in his belly. 

“We could,” Wonshik offers, “multi task?”

Hakyeon casts a dark glare in Wonshik’s direction. “Do you have the energy for that? Because I’m absolutely wrecked.”

“I  _ wish _ I was being absolutely wrecked,” Taekwoon whines, and Hakyeon rewards him with a resounding slap to the outer thigh. Taekwoon shudders and drops his hips down more heavily, putting his full weight into the motion. “Give it to me.”

Hakyeon slides his gaze back to Wonshik. Wordlessly, Wonshik gets up and pads down the hall, being careful as he walks past the closed doors to the others’ rooms. 

Hakyeon winds his arms around Taekwoon’s neck and tugs him down into a kiss. It starts gentle, slow, the two of them still soaking in residual exhaustion, but then Taekwoon licks at the seam of Hakyeon’s lips, and Hakyeon purrs and lets him in. His lips are so warm, so soft and red, and Taekwoon can’t get enough. Especially like this, with him especially pliant and arched up beneath him. 

Wonshik returns with a little bottle of lube and two condoms. Taekwoon sneers at the number of condoms, but Hakyeon pets his thigh and coos, “Just one round tonight, baby boy, but we’ll have time. We have plenty of time.”

Taekwoon grabs for Hakyeon’s sweatpants and yanks at the waistband needily. Hakyeon chuckles and cants his hips up, allowing Taekwoon to shuck them down to his ankles. Hakyeon is perfectly, gloriously bare underneath, and Taekwoon hums and strokes his hands over all the beautiful smooth tan skin he can fit beneath his palms at once. He rakes his nails down Hakyeon’s chest to watch him flare up like a newly fed flame, and Taekwoon leans in to press openmouthed kisses down his sternum to his navel. The little downy hairs at the base of Hakyeon’s belly tickle under Taekwoon’s lips, and Hakyeon fists into Taekwoon’s hair, tugging him up.

“No time tonight,” he reminds him.

Behind them, Wonshik works on getting Taekwoon out of his clothes, which is easy, considering he’d also prepared by somehow slipping himself into those tight jeans without brief underneath, and his cock celebrates being free from the rough, pressing denim. Taekwoon lifts his arms and lets Wonshik pull his sweatshirt over his head, Wonshik’s cool hands moving over his back, down to trace the dimples at the base of his spine, around his middle to tease at the base of his shaft. He touches his lips to Taekwoon’s throat from behind and says, “Do you think you can take us both tonight, baby?”

Taekwoon shakes, palms landing hard on Hakyeon’s chest as he steadies himself. “Please.”

Wonshik’s bare chest presses to Taekwoon’s back, and Taekwoon realizes how efficiently he’d worked both Taekwoon and himself out of his clothing while Taekwoon was distracted. 

“Hakyeon,” Wonshik says.

Hakyeon smoothes his hands up Taekwoon’s thighs and wraps his fingers delicately around Taekwoon’s pink-flushed cock. It feels like heaven, like somehow being enveloped in the sound of ringing bells, in the scent of bright citrus soap and freshly washed laundry. Like coming home.

Hakyeon begins a slow pace of stroking his warm fingers over Taekwoon’s cock as Wonshik presses Taekwoon down a bit with a strong hand between his shoulder blades. A finger teases at Taekwoon’s hole, and Taekwoon circles back against it. 

“You have to be quiet, okay, love?” Wonshik says, his breath heady and warm against the nape of Taekwoon’s neck. Taekwoon only gives a nod, shuddering in Hakyeon’s grip as Wonshik presses a finger in slowly. “I can tell how tired you are by how relaxed you are when I finger you. Isn’t that kind of strange?”

“He looks like he’s going to fall asleep,” Hakyeon replies, tightening his grip over Taekwoon’s cock with his other hand teasing down to his balls, his perineum. Four hands, all on him at once, and it never feels the same. Never. Each time is different, new, exciting, yet familiar. 

“So I’ll wake him up,” Wonshik mutters, nipping at Taekwoon’s ear as he teases in a second finger, spreading them, and Taekwoon can tell they’re Wonshik’s fingers every time, and the thought makes blood rush heavy and hot to his cock, where Hakyeon is stroking over his skin like they’ve got all the time in the world. Which they all know they don’t. 

“Hurry. I’m relaxed, right? Just stick ‘em all in,” Taekwoon grumbles, falling forward a bit, with Hakyeon steadying him with the hand not working calmly over his cock. 

Wonshik eyes Hakyeon over Taekwoon’s shoulder, and Taekwoon rolls his eyes. 

“The princess requests more fingers, sir,” Hakyeon coos.

Taekwoon slaps Hakyeon’s chest, and Hakyeon squeezes the head of his cock in reply. Taekwoon meeps, lips pressing tight to keep quiet. 

Wonshik works in a third finger and then a fourth after a few moments of Taekwoon purring, pleased as punch, against Hakyeon’s neck. 

“Sit back, baby,” Wonshik says, guiding Taekwoon’s hips back until he feels the head of Hakyeon’s cock at his entrance. Wonshik teases it against his rim for a moment, before Hakyeon whines, “ _ No time, Shik _ .”

Taekwoon rolls his hips needily until he feels Hakyeon breaching him, and it’s all too slow, and he’s so tired, and there’s no  _ time _ , there’s no time, and he wants, he needs.

Wonshik’s hands hold Taekwoon, the chill of his finger tips splayed at Taekwoon’s hip bones as Taekwoon lifts with Wonshik’s help and drops back down over Hakyeon’s cock and  _ fuck it feels so good, so perfect and throbbing and hot.  _

“Good, you’re so good,” Hakyeon breathes, lips barely forming the words as he lifts his hips up as much as Taekwoon’s weight above him would allow. “You’re always so good, Taekwoon, so fucking good.”

Taekwoon feels his skin pebble with goosebumps as he rocks down over Hakyeon’s hard cock, shifting the head around inside him until it brushes against his walls and makes him whimper through bitten lips. 

Wonshik touches his chapped lips down the column of Taekwoon’s throat as he circles his hands over Taekwoon’s belly, just above where his cock stands heavy between his legs. 

Taekwoon writhes under both of their hands, until Wonshik moves one hand back to press Taekwoon’s chest as far forward as he can bend, ass lifted a bit so he can trace the seam where Hakyeon’s cock meets his rim. Taekwoon moans behind tightly shut lips and presses back.

“Hold still, love, just for a bit,” Hakyeon gasps out, his own body thrumming, his veins pressing up under his tan skin like newly formed rivers carving their paths into the earth. 

“I don’t...want to…” 

Wonshik’s circling finger finally presses in, newly slick with more lube, and Taekwoon and Hakyeon press their lips together to muffle their cries in unison. 

“God, Shikkie, that feels,” Hakyeon pants, hips stuttering beneath Taekwoon’s thighs, “like the worst kind of heaven. A heaven filled with little goblins or something.”

“You always say that,” Wonshik replies, pressing at Taekwoon’s walls from the inside, eyes trained on the way his body stretches to allow his finger in deeper. Taekwoon knows Wonshik loves to watch his hole fluttering desperately against his fingers when he fucks him open like this, spreading him impossibly further open. “Though the goblins are new.”

“Your sweat is dripping on me, Taek,” Hakyeon chuckles, moving his hand from Taekwoon’s cock to swipe at the droplets on his stomach. Taekwoon grumbles and grabs for Hakyeon’s wrist, pulling it quickly back to his cock. “Our needy boy wants more, Wonshik.”

Wonshik acquiesces with just a soft hum, pressing another finger in beside the first, tracing over the underside of Hakyeon’s cock within Taekwoon’s twitching, hot walls. 

“I was a bit jealous,” Hakyeon says, breathy and light like helium whistling out of a balloon, “when I saw. The video. You two get to show the world a part of you I never’ll get to.”

“It’s fake,” Wonshik says over Taekwoon’s shoulder, his chin on Taekwoon’s skin. “A story, Hakyeon.”

“But it isn’t, is it?” Hakyeon asks, sliding his hand between Taekwoon’s thighs, over his perineum, back to where Wonshik’s fingers are tucked under his cock inside Taekwoon’s body. “You get to show them a hint of what is real.”

“This is what’s real,” Taekwoon pants, gasping as Wonshik spreads his fingers, pushing at Taekwoon’s rim again to fit a third finger inside. Taekwoon feels more lube dripping down his ass between his cheeks, seeping into his hole, and he shakes in Hakyeon’s arms. Hakyeon presses a kiss to the crown of his head and coos.

“I want them to know you’re mine. You’re both mine. My boys, my precious boys,” Hakyeon says, voice rough with the effort of keeping still under Wonshik’s ministrations. 

“We know, Hakyeon,” Wonshik replies. “We’re yours, and you’re ours.”

“Hurry up,” Taekwoon forces out, practically quaking, the friction unbearable, like Wonshik and Hakyeon are the tectonic plates surrounding him, building the pressure up impossibly high until Taekwoon fears he’ll split apart. 

“I want you,” Taekwoon adds, reaching back for Wonshik’s hand. “Gimme your cock, Wonshik, I need it. Quick, it’s so late, and I’m so, so tired.”

“Okay, baby, okay, sh,” Wonshik murmurs, lips on Taekwoon’s shoulder, tracing to his neck, his spine. And then he’s touching the head of his cock to where Taekwoon and Hakyeon’s bodies meet, and then he’s pressing in, and then Taekwoon really is splitting apart, right up the middle, giving one half of himself to Hakyeon and one to Wonshik until there is nothing but the pounding of Wonshik’s heart against his spine, the pounding of Hakyeon’s heart beneath his palms on Hakyeon’s chest. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ .”

“Fuck, babyboy, you feel so good, you’re so so good.”

Taekwoon can’t do much other than shake, his muscles twitching beneath his skin like active fault lines, and the pressure inside him ratcheting up higher and higher. 

“You’re so tight for us, love,” Hakyeon gasps, barely shifting his hips, and Wonshik and Taekwoon both groan weakly at the sensation. “You...you two...you’re both so good. So beautiful and strong and  _ fuck _ \--”

“And what, Hakyeon? I didn’t catch that,” Wonshik chuckles, shifting his hips and starting a slow rhythm. 

“ _ Fucking _ ,” Hakyeon breaks off, “amazing--”

“It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it’s so good, don’t stop,” Taekwoon babbles, held between their bodies and rocking with their steady rhythm. Hakyeon in, Wonshik out. Wonshik in, Hakyeon out. Wonshik’s head brushes up against Hakyeon’s, the thickest spot in Taekwoon’s body, and they both press hard against Taekwoon’s prostate, and Taekwoon has to bite down on his forearm to keep from screaming. It hurts like no pain Taekwoon could ever explain. There are no words in any language made for this kind of pain. This kind of pleasure. 

“Perhaps this isn’t our best idea,” Hakyeon breathes, “double penetrating him after telling him to be quiet.”

“At least he’s too tired to shout like he does usually.”

“I do not,” Taekwoon pants weakly, “shout.”

“Mhm,” Wonshik chuckles, “just loudly project that pretty voice of yours.”

“You’re lucky I’m close, or I’d get off and leave you here to rot,” Taekwoon grumbles. 

Wonshik curls a hand around Taekwoon’s front and fists his cock.

Taekwoon collapses. 

Hakyeon holds him close, Taekwoon feeling like every inch of his insides is being touched by Hakyeon and Wonshik, every inch of his skin is alight, his nerves dancing beneath their hands. 

“Kiss me,” Taekwoon begs, and Hakyeon gives him what he wants, because Hakyeon always knows what Taekwoon needs, always gives it to him.

His lips are burning hot, slick, frantic against Taekwoon’s, and Taekwoon can feel his and Wonshik’s cocks pulsing inside him now. 

“I wanna come, Hakyeon. I wanna come. Wonshik, please. Please?” his voice is strained, high and weak and shaky as the pleasure threatens to overtake him.

Wonshik and Hakyeon’s hands are both on his cock now, stroking in messy, sloppy, tired tandem, and Taekwoon is barely holding himself up with his forearms on Hakyeon’s chest, back arched weakly. 

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh  _ fuck _ , yes,” Taekwoon whimpers, eyelids fluttering, muscles pulling tight, bones melting to raw pulp, mixing with his blood, until he’s just one mess of pleasure and blood.

The earthquake of Hakyeon and Wonshik’s bodies builds into the swell of a tsunami of pleasure, and it is so much, too much, and Taekwoon thinks he might just die. 

And he doesn’t care. 

Between his two favorite people, his precious people, his best friends, his everything, Taekwoon wouldn’t mind if this is how he goes.

And then everything whites out.

Blinding, shuddering pleasure washes over him, all thoughts gone except for the one that tells him he’s never felt anything so good in his life and he’s earned this, he’s been good, he’s earned this beautiful breaking of his body. 

When the aftershocks end, he feels heavy, sluggish, and so fucking tired.

“Hurry up, Shikkie, he looks one breath away from snoresville.”

Wonshik ruts up into Taekwoon harder, and Taekwoon is so tired and sensitive that he does nothing but take it, his hole still twitching and contracting, tightening over them both. 

Hakyeon pulls Taekwoon’s fingers into his mouth and whines around them as he comes, his hips stuttering beneath Taekwoon. 

Wonshik pulls out, and Taekwoon releases a hissing sigh as his hole clenches back around just Hakyeon. And then Hakyeon is gone too, and he’s so empty and so sleepy and so warm. 

Wonshik lifts Taekwoon and moves him against the far armrest, moving in to position himself over Hakyeon, and Taekwoon watches through heavy eyelids as they kiss, tender and sweet but rushed. Taekwoon could watch them kiss for ages. For the rest of his life, hopefully. 

And then Hakyeon’s pretty red lips are parting, and Wonshik is sliding his cock between them, and Taekwoon watches for a few quiet moments as Wonshik fucks into Hakyeon’s beautiful mouth, the wide girth of him stretching those gorgeous lips that Taekwoon adores so much.

It’s over so quickly, or maybe Taekwoon falls asleep, because when his eyes focus again, Wonshik and Hakyeon are tucking arms beneath his aching body and guiding him up. 

“Time for bed, baby.”

Taekwoon can barely stay focussed, but he does feel a cool, wet cloth against his skin, and it stings but feels so good as it wipes away the mess smeared around his stretched and reddened hole. 

And then he blacks out again.

And then he’s in bed, warm and skin-on-skin-on-skin in Hakyeon’s bed. Endless skin so good Taekwoon could never leave. Wishes he would never leave this feeling. 

“I wish we could have been a subunit of three,” Taekwoon sleepily murmurs.

Hakyeon pulls him against his chest as Wonshik lines up behind him, and Taekwoon is so overwhelmed by the comfort, the gentle, familiar heat of their bodies around him. 

“Your music is special,” Hakyeon says. “I appreciate that. The two of you have a talent, an amazing, amazing talent. I’m so…” 

“It’s okay. We know, Hakyeon. We saw the banners.”

“There were streamers and kazoos too, but it was too dark, and we couldn’t make noise,” Hakyeon says, and Taekwoon can hear the pout in his voice. “I’m LR’s biggest fan, you know.”

“We know,” Taekwoon and Wonshik whisper in the dark of the room.

“You’re both so beautiful, so good, do you know that too?”

“Mm,” Taekwoon replies, eyelids already shut, body curling towards Hakyeon’s and also back against Wonshik’s. “We’re your boys. You’re my boys.”

“Hongbin is gonna be so mad about the couch,” Wonshik chuckles.

“I’m gonna be mad about my butthole,” Taekwoon grouches.

“Sorry for giving you exquisite pleasure, as usual, princess.”

“I hate you.”

A loud kick sounds against the wall behind their headboard. 

“Shut up and sleep! We get it, you’re all very aroused by LR’s success! But we have schedules!”

Hakyeon winds his arms around Taekwoon’s middle, and Wonshik tucks his arm under Taekwoon’s head and his thigh drops over Taekwoon’s hip. And Taekwoon falls asleep there, warm and sated and surrounded by the familiar scent of skin and sheets. 

  
  



End file.
